Add on the Barkley
by Vol lady
Summary: I previously posted Chapter 1 as a separate story called "What Mothers Know." I am including it here because it leads into the story of Heath's legally taking the Barkley name and becoming Victoria's adopted son.
1. Chapter 1

I published Chapter 1 as a separate story called "What Mothers Know." I've added it here because it leads into Heath's story on becoming legally adopted as a Barkley and Victoria Barkley's son.

Add on the "Barkley"

Chapter 1

Jarrod quietly said, "I'll send for the undertaker," and left the room.

Heath gave a sigh and stood up from Charlie Sawyer's bedside. He really didn't want to open his eyes when he turned, because she would be there and he'd have to face her.

But he did open his eyes, and she was there, looking at him with nothing but sadness in her eyes. And oh, he didn't deserve that. He hadn't earned that.

Victoria said, "Heath, I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," Heath said. "I ought to be saying this to the whole family, but I need to say it to you, privately, most of all."

"I'm listening," Victoria said.

"The thing is – I never knew anybody like you. To take me in and treat me like I was your own son when I was the result of the biggest betrayal imaginable – " He looked at her and knew he had to stop that line of thought right away. "I let my pride get in the way of what you taught me – what you all taught me but especially what you taught me, and even when you said it to me again while I was walking out the door and I treated you like – well, I treated you like you were just somebody giving me a handout. And that was wrong of me."

"It dammed well was!" She let him have it. "How you could have even doubted for a minute – "

"I didn't doubt you," he cut her off. "I never doubted you. Once I said I'd do anything for you, and I would."

"Except stay when I wanted you to, because your pride got in the way."

Heath hung his head like an eight-year-old in big trouble. She was so right about that. She was so right to let him have it.

"Do you understand now what you mean to us? And it's not a handout. You earned your place here. You earned your place in my heart and you would have kept it, even if Charlie Sawyer had been your real father. Heath – " She had to take a breath. "You're as much my son as Jarrod or Nick or Eugene. But the question is, what am I to you? I feel every bit like your mother, but is that how you feel?"

Heath swallowed. What to say? If he said yes, would it be a betrayal to the woman who gave birth to him and raised him? If he said no, would it be a betrayal to this woman who took her into her home, her heart, her everything? He looked at her, at those eyes that were tough as nails but gentle as the snow, all at the same time. "You are everything to me now, as she was everything to me then. And earlier today, when I walked out that front door, I betrayed you. I'll never forgive myself for that."

"Oh, of course you will," Victoria said. "This was the first time since you came to us that you really had yourself tested – were you a member of this family or not? You ARE, and you ARE my son, and now you know it."

Heath smiled a little. "You seem more sure that I know it than I do."

"Heath, don't be a prideful dope," Victoria said. "Who did you come to when this man, who you thought was your father, was shot?"

Heath looked back at Charlie Sawyer, lying there dead – in a Barkley bed, in the Barkley house. He smiled even more and shook his head. "You are – beyond belief."

He went up to her and took her into his arms.

"I am a Barkley," he said. "You are my mother."

She pulled away a little. "Then you won't mind what I've asked Jarrod to do."

"What's that?"

"When you walked out of here earlier, I asked Jarrod to do whatever was necessary to make it legal. You are my son, Heath, in every way."

Heath laughed a little. "You knew I'd be back, didn't you?"

Victoria got a twinkle in her eye. "Of course I did. Mothers know everything."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Heath sat in Jarrod's office in Stockton, in the chair in front of Jarrod's desk, looking at the papers in front of him. Jarrod sat behind his desk, looking at Heath. Neither one of them spoke, but Jarrod could read Heath's eyes very clearly. Heath would read a little, then look away, then read some more, then look away again. Jarrod knew indecision when he saw it, and he didn't want to rush anything. He had known for more than a year that this was probably the biggest decision Heath would ever make in his life, even bigger than the one that brought him to Stockton to fight for his heritage as a Barkley. When he first came and told them he intended to fight for the name, that was one thing. Putting it down on paper, for legal, for good, forever – that was something else entirely.

And there was more. Jarrod said, "Charlie Sawyer spooked you good, didn't he?"

Heath was almost startled. In the back of his mind, he had almost forgotten that Jarrod was even there. "No," Heath said. "I spooked me good. I let doubt get into my head."

"And doubt is hard to root out," Jarrod said. "Do you honestly still doubt your parentage?"

Heath thought about the dressing down he'd gotten from Victoria just after Charlie Sawyer confessed he wasn't Heath's father as he had claimed, just after the old con man died. "No, I don't doubt that Tom Barkley was my father," Heath said and meant it. "And I don't doubt that you are my family."

"I hope it's not our love and devotion to you that you doubt," Jarrod said.

"No," Heath said quickly. "No, Jarrod, no, not at all. I don't know what I'm doubting. Myself, I guess."

"Why?" Jarrod asked. "Just because you acted like an idiot there for a while you think you don't deserve to be a Barkley somehow?"

Heath looked up at Jarrod's light smile. He knew when he was being teased. "No, I don't think that's it either. It's just a really big step to change your name. I mean, a name is something really important."

Jarrod had yet to face the time when he'd lose his memory and his name and he'd come to know how right Heath was. That was still a month or two away. But he knew a name was important, even if he had yet to feel it as deeply as Heath was feeling it now. "It's your name, Heath," Jarrod said. "Whether you use it or not, it's your name. All this does is file it at the courthouse."

"No, it's more than that," Heath said. "I sign this, and I'm somebody else's son. I'm Victoria Barkley's son."

"You'll never be any less Leah Thomson's son," Jarrod said.

"I know," Heath said. He got up and paced to the other side of the room. "Jarrod, it's not that I don't feel a part of the family. All right, I was stupid there for a while and didn't feel that way, but I know I shouldn't have. What was it Mother said – if not by blood by work and love?"

"By work, love, sacrifice, and blood, Heath," Jarrod said. "But if you're not ready to sign this, then you're not ready to sign it."

Heath looked up into Jarrod's eyes. He didn't even see any disappointment there. Jarrod was willing to accept whatever he thought, whatever he decided, and Jarrod would still love him and treat him as a brother. But what about Victoria? If he didn't sign these papers, would she feel it as a rejection? Especially after that dressing down she gave him, would she be hurt? And God, he didn't want to hurt her.

Jarrod saw Heath's hesitation was deep and real. He got up, approached his younger brother, and put a hand on his shoulder. "If you need to think about this some more, we'll understand."

Heath wasn't sure he wanted to risk that Victoria wouldn't understand. He made a decision. "Jarrod, would you tell everyone that I had to go away for a couple days?"

"Go where?" Jarrod asked, though he thought he knew.

"I want to go up to Strawberry," Heath said. "I want to visit my mother's grave again."

"If you think she has an answer for you, by all means, go."

"Don't tell anybody why I'm going," Heath said. "Don't tell them I'm having trouble signing the papers."

"They'll figure it out, Heath."

"I don't want Mother to have to hear the words."

Jarrod understood. He nodded. "All right. I'll just tell them you went up there because of what happened with Charlie and you wanted to apologize to your mother for doubting her word, or something like that."

"Mother will never believe that, will she?"

Jarrod chuckled a little. "Mother sees right through me every time. But I won't say the words you don't want me to say. Just make sure you come back to me here and sign these papers before you go home to her."

"You're sure I'm going to sign them."

"Oh, I'm positive you will," Jarrod said. "Leah will tell you to."

XXXXXXXX

It was only a few hours later that Heath knelt at his mother's grave and smiled a little, remembering Jarrod saying "Leah will tell you to" sign the adoption papers. For a moment he almost felt stupid for coming up here, because he could hear his mother – his birth mother – saying the same sort of things Victoria had said to him when Charlie Sawyer died. "You prideful dope" especially rang in his ears. And yes, that's what he had been through this whole thing with Charlie Sawyer.

He shook his head. "Mother, I'm sorry I doubted you about Tom Barkley. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I was just afraid. Mother, I've been with the Barkleys for a year, and I wanted so much to be a Barkley that I was afraid it wasn't true and I acted the way my fears directed me to. And that's not who you raised me to be."

He sat down on the ground and thought some more. Victoria's face came into his mind's eye. "She's a fine woman, Mother. I'm almost afraid of something else – of how much she's feeling like a mother to me. I'm afraid if I let that happen, it would be an insult to you."

"You prideful dope," he heard in his head again. Then he heard more. "Do you think I would have told you who your father was if I didn't want you to find his family and be a part of it? I knew Tom, and through him I knew his family. I knew they were good people and they'd look after you after I was gone. Don't you know that's what I wanted for you – you prideful dope?"

Heath actually laughed now. A soft wind rustled his hair, like she used to do when he was a little boy.

"Heath?"

He actually heard a voice now, a real voice, and he got up, knowing who it was. He turned and found her a few feet away, holding some late summer flowers. He grinned. "Hello, Hannah."

"My, what are you doin' back here already?" Hannah asked. "You was just here!"

Heath gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Just sorting some things out, Hannah. I saw Charlie Sawyer, and we straightened everything out, but he's dead now."

"Oh," she said, looking perplexed. "I thought he was dead a long time ago. You saw him?"

"I saw him," Heath said and left it at that. Hannah would have some difficulty remembering what he was telling her about Charlie anyway. For her, he'd always be dead long ago.

Hannah bent and put the flowers on Leah's grave. "I like to come put flowers here when I have some in my garden."

"Thank you for that, Hannah," Heath said.

"You gonna stay here for a while?"

"No," Heath said with a sigh. "I have to go back to Stockton and attend to some things." There were papers to sign.

"Well," Hannah said. "I'm glad you come by, anyway. Your mama, she'd be so glad you found you a home in Stockton."

"The Barkleys are good people," Heath said. "They're a good family to be part of."

"I do believe you," Hannah said. "And Miss Leah, she knows that, too."

Heath looked down at his mother's grave. "I know she does. She told me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It got dark before Heath made it all the way back to Stockton. He was a good hour away, and he remembered Jarrod wanted him to come by the office before he went home. He wanted to do that now, but it was late tonight and Jarrod wouldn't be there again until morning. Besides, it was a moonless night and Heath didn't want his horse to break a leg in the dark, so he camped out and resolved to go straight to Jarrod's office in the morning, to sign those papers.

He couldn't say all his doubts about signing were gone now, but there wasn't much of any of them left. Seeing his mother's grave had put so much of his mind at ease that it wasn't worth worrying about anymore. He thought to himself that by this time tomorrow, he would be officially, legally, on paper Heath Barkley. Not just using the name here and there. Now it would be in the courthouse for all the world to see.

He heard footsteps.

Heath never lost his vigilance when he was alone out in the world at night, and he hadn't lost it now. He'd been drinking coffee, but now he slipped his right hand down to his sidearm and lifted his gun out slowly, putting the coffee down slowly with his left hand.

"Easy, friend, I don't mean you no harm," a man's voice said from the darkness.

Heath pointed his gun. "Then come into the light with your hands away from your sides."

One man came into the light, his arms out. "I'm not even carrying," he said.

Heath could see he didn't have a sidearm, but that didn't mean he couldn't have one at his back under his belt. "Turn around."

The man turned slowly. There was no gun at his back. He turned to face Heath again. "Could I talk you into letting me have a cup of coffee?"

Heath kept the gun out. "Why are you sneaking up on me like that?"

"I didn't mean to," the man said. "My horse stumbled in the dark and dumped me and ran off. I've been afoot for about two miles."

Heath nodded to him, still cautious. The man might not be telling the truth, and he might not be alone. "Sit and drink," he said.

The man sat by the fire. "Got another cup?"

"No," Heath said. "Use mine."

The man reached for it and poured himself some coffee. "My name's Hank Murdock," he said.

"Heath," Heath said and then added, "Barkley."

"You one of them Stockton Barkleys?"

Heath said firmly, "I am." He still kept his gun out.

"I used to work for them, long time ago, when Tom Barkley was still alive. He's your daddy?"

"He was," Heath said.

"Fine man, fine man. I quit working for them and moved down Modesto way for a while. I'm heading back up that way. Need a job again. Are you hiring?"

"You'll need to go by the ranch and see my brother Nick. He does the hiring."

"You headed home or away?"

"Home."

"Stopping for the night?"

"Yeah."

"Mind if I share your camp?"

Heath hesitated, but then said, "Suit yourself." He decided he'd rather have this guy in the light where he could see him than in the dark, but he kept a listen out, just in case Hank Murdock wasn't alone.

"I don't remember you being at the ranch when I was there," Murdock said. "Of course, it was a long time ago."

"When?" Heath asked.

"Oh, let me see. There were two boys – one was about seven and the other just a toddler, maybe three."

Heath was glad he could say, "I wasn't born yet." It eliminated any need to explain why he wasn't there.

Murdock swallowed some coffee and poured himself some more. "I worked up a thirst, all that walkin', even in the dark."

Murdock grew quiet then, and Heath was not inclined to get him talking again. They sat and drank coffee for a while, and then Murdock got up.

"Need to see a man about a horse," he said and stepped off into the darkness.

Heath felt decidedly uncomfortable, not being able to see the man. He still didn't trust him. He kept his gun level and handy, but he had to admit, if Murdock had a gun on him or had left one out there someplace, there could be a lot of trouble here very fast. Murdock was in the dark. Heath knew he was exposed, in the light.

Uncomfortable, Heath got up and moved out of the firelight – but he was too late.

Murdock shot at him. Heath felt the sting in his leg and went down, but he'd have gone down anyway to be less of a target. He fired at where he had seen the flash from the man's gun. He heard something heavy drop.

Stumbling up, Heath dodged the firelight and went to where he thought the fellow was. He nearly fell right over him. He sidestepped fast in case the man tried to grab him, but the man wasn't moving. Heath knelt and felt around, finding the man, finding his chest. The man groaned, a sick, rattling groan.

"You stay right where you are," Heath said, "or I'll finish you off."

Murdock didn't say anything, and he didn't move or groan anymore. Heath heard a deep ragged sigh, and that was the end of him. There wasn't anything Heath could do about it. He felt around for the gun Murdock had to have, and he found a small derringer in the man's hand. Heath threw it away. He stumbled back to the fire, sat down on the rock he'd been on before, and put his gun down beside him. He had to rip is trousers along the outer seam to find the bullet wound in his leg. It was there, in the calf just above his boots. _At least it didn't wreck my boot_ , Heath thought.

Oh, but damn, it was starting to hurt. Heath pulled his bandana off from around his neck and tied it tightly around the wound. The boot, at least, would keep the makeshift bandage from slipping down. But he had to get to help. This wound was still bleeding.

Heath got himself together, hopping more than limping sometimes. He saddled his horse and poured the rest of the coffee on the fire, using a small rock to pound out the rest of the coals. Somehow he got up into the saddle and started again for home.

But it was still pitch black out and he had to take it horribly slow. He wasn't afraid – he'd been in jams worse than this before – but the leg hurt more and more and he cursed himself more and more for letting that stranger get the drop on him. It was a trick he'd had played on him by robbers before. He'd just let his guard down, only a little, but it was enough.

He found the road and moved slowly on toward Stockton. He had no idea what time it was or how long it was going to take him to get there at this rate. He just hoped he didn't lose too much blood and pass out in the road before he got to help.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Heath remembered something. There was a house just off this road, toward the east, maybe not fifteen minutes away at a regular pace, twenty to thirty minutes away at the rate he was going in the dark. He didn't know who lived there, but maybe he could get some help. He kept an eye open for some light off where he thought the house to be.

And he saw it, faintly through the trees. Relieved, he urged his horse on just a little faster, and soon he was in front of the house. There was just a little light coming from inside, but it was enough. Heath slipped out of the saddle and limped up to the door. He knocked.

A man opened the door, rifle in hand, looking mean. "I'm sorry," Heath said quickly, leaning on the outside door frame. "Somebody tried to rob me and I'm in trouble. I'm alone. My name is Heath Barkley. I don't mean you any harm, but I've got a leg wound."

A woman appeared beside the man. "Get on in here," she said, reaching for him.

The woman helped Heath inside as the man took a quick look around out through the door to be sure no one else was out there. Then he closed the door. He helped his wife get Heath to a spot on the sofa, and then he put his rifle up and fetched a towel from the kitchen. They put the towel underneath Heath's leg as he put it up on the sofa.

"I really appreciate this," Heath said.

"What happened?" the man asked as his wife took the bandana off Heath's leg.

"Man tried to rob me," Heath said. "He said he used to work for my family but I'll bet that was a bald-faced lie."

"Where is he now?"

"I'm afraid I had to shoot him. I'll send the Sheriff back for him when I get to Stockton."

"This doesn't look too bad," the woman said. "Took a chunk out of the side of your leg, but the bullet didn't even really go in. You stay right here and I'll clean it and bandage it for you."

As the woman went into the kitchen, the man said, "You're that new Barkley boy, aren't you?"

Heath had to smile at the way he put that. "Yes, sir, I am."

"We don't know your family real well, but we know Jarrod Barkley."

"He's my brother."

"Six years ago, he was a prosecutor," the man said, and then he was quiet for a moment before he went on. "He prosecuted the man who killed our son." The man paused again, then said. "Man killed our son in cold blood – trying to rob him, like you tonight. They hung him."

Heath could tell the memory hurt the man a lot, and when the woman came back with a pan of water, a bottle of alcohol and some bandages, she had tears in her eyes. "I'm really sorry about your son," Heath said, feeling inadequate. There weren't any words for that.

"Your brother took good care of us," the woman said, "and he got us justice. He's a fine man, your brother."

Heath felt a warmth come over him. "Yes, ma'am, he is a fine man."

"That fella tried to rob you tonight probably thought since you were a Barkley, you'd have a lot of money on you," the man said.

Heath chuckled, even though the woman cleaning his wound was making it hurt. "He'd have been disappointed. I think I have five dollars on me."

The man chuckled now, too. "Would you like some coffee, son?"

"No, thank you," Heath said. "I'll just let you get me a better bandage here and be on my way."

"You'll do no such thing," the woman said. "You've lost some blood and you need to rest and you're gonna sleep right here on this sofa. That's the least we can do for Jarrod Barkley's brother."

"That's a right good family you come from, boy," the man said. "Now – we know the story and where you came from, but we knew right away they'd take care of you. That's the kind of people they are. They don't turn anybody away, especially not one of their own."

Heath felt that warmth again. These people, these strangers, and they called him one of the Barkleys' own. _Two ways tonight I've been called Barkley_ , Heath thought to himself. _One wanted to rob me, and these two want to help me._ "They are fine people," Heath said. "I'm proud they've taken me in."

The man gave Heath a slap on the back. "I'm gonna go bed your horse down for the night, Heath."

"Thank you, sir. I don't even know your names," Heath said.

As the man started for the door, he said, "I'm James Noble. This is my wife, Alice. You remember us to your brother when you see him. He might even remember us."

"He'll remember," Heath said to the woman as the man went outside. "My brother doesn't forget much of anything."

"How do you like being a Barkley, Heath?" Mrs. Noble asked, smiling.

Heath almost felt misty eyed at the question. "It's a privilege, ma'am. A privilege and an honor."

"You hold your breath now. This alcohol is gonna sting. I heard your own mama died a year or so ago," Mrs. Noble said. "I am sorry, but I bet she'd be pleased you've found yourself a home and a family."

"She is pleased," Heath said. "Not a doubt in my mind."

XXXXXXX

Heath slept comfortably on the sofa, so comfortably that when the sun came up and he woke up, he didn't really remember what had happened the night before and where he was. He limped his way to the outhouse out back, and when he came back in the Nobles were up, Mr. Noble out collecting eggs from the hen house and Mrs. Noble cooking up breakfast.

"I heard you moving around in there," Mr. Noble said as he came out with the eggs and found Heath making his way back to the house. "How's that leg this morning?"

"Much better," Heath said. "Thanks again for taking me in."

"Our pleasure," Mr. Noble said and opened the back door.

Mrs. Noble saw them coming in and said, "Good morning, Heath. Feeling better this morning?"

"Much," Heath repeated. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No, you just sit yourself down at that table and I'll have coffee and breakfast ready in a few minutes."

Heath sat down as instructed, thinking he'd really lucked out last night. A soft bed and a home-cooked breakfast instead of the cold hard ground and warmed over beans. "I reckon I can be going and get out of your hair this morning."

"If you feel fit," Mr. Noble said. "It's not quite an hour to Stockton from here."

"I'll be fine," Heath said. "I have to go see my brother Jarrod at his office first thing. I'll give him your regards. Can I tell him you're doing all right?"

Mr. Noble nodded. "It's still kinda tough without our boy, but we're moving along."

"We're thinking we might be moving into town before long," Mrs. Noble said as she brought coffee. "We're not getting much younger."

"Well, if you do, I hope you'll remember you have friends in the Barkleys," Heath said.

Heath was fed and off to town in an hour or so. He almost hated to leave the Nobles, they were so kind and friendly. When they waved him good-bye, he felt a tingle when Mrs. Noble called, "Be safe, Heath Barkley!"

If there had been any doubts remaining in his mind about signing the papers in Jarrod's office, they were all gone now.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The morning air was sweet. Heath and his horse were both well-rested and in less than an hour, they rode into Stockton. Heath thought he'd best see the sheriff before he went to Jarrod's office. Steve Harris had been sheriff since Sheriff Harry Lyman had been killed at Sample's farm, and he was doing a fine job. Heath found him in the street, making his morning rounds. "Steve!"

The sheriff stopped and smiled up at him as Heath climbed down. "You're here early, Heath." Then he saw Heath limping toward him. "What happened to you?"

"Shot last night, somebody tried to rob me," Heath said. "I'm afraid I shot him dead and had to leave him alongside the road heading up toward Strawberry, down near where the creek runs close to the road."

Sheriff Harris nodded. "I know where you mean. I'll get my deputy out there. You better get over to Doc Merar's."

"I had help last night, family name of Noble took me in."

The sheriff smiled. "I know them. Fine people. But you best have the doc look at the leg anyway. He's up and in his office. I just looked in on him."

Heath nodded, remounted, and rode over to the doctor's office. He got down again, took the steps as easy as he could, and went inside the office. Dr. Merar was in the waiting area there, running a dust cloth over the chairs and small tables. He stopped, looked at Heath and said, "Oh, Heath, you are turning into a Barkley for sure. What have you done to yourself now?"

Heath said, "I didn't do it. Somebody tried to rob me out on the road last night and I've been shot in the leg, but it's just a flesh wound. Mrs. Noble doctored it for me."

"Alice Noble? Oh, what a fine couple. Breaks my heart. I took care of their son when he was murdered. He was a good lad. You come on in here and let me have a look."

Heath limped into the treatment room and hoisted himself up on the examining table there. Dr. Merar had him lie back and put both legs up on the table. He pulled Heath's torn pantleg up and saw the bandage. "Is it still bleeding?" Heath asked.

"Not much," Dr. Merar said as he unwrapped the bandage. "No, hardly at all. Alice did a nice job. How are they, the Nobles?"

"Doing fine," Heath said. "They talked a little bit about moving into town sometime."

"I'd be pretty happy if they did that," Dr. Merar said. "They have nobody to take care of them with Flynn gone. They'd be a lot better off here in town."

"I was thinking I might pay them a visit now and then, just to see if they're all right. They treated me awfully good last night."

"I can see that. Alice doctored this leg just fine. No, I don't think you need any stitches, but I'm gonna put some of my ugly brown stuff on here to fight off infection."

"She used alcohol on it. Stung like crazy."

"That's good. Let me get you bandaged back up."

The doctor fetched his "ugly brown stuff," and doctored the leg. Heath said, "The Nobles told me how they lost their son and how Jarrod prosecuted the man who did it."

"Yes, he did, I remember," Dr. Merar said. "I testified in that trial. I'm not too keen on seeing men hang, but when it came to the man who killed Flynn, I let my qualms pass over."

"Who did it?" Heath asked.

Dr. Merar sighed. "A man named Pittsfield. Ornery cuss. Just passing through, but he ambushed Flynn right outside of town, shot him dead and took everything he had on him – two dollars and a pocket watch. Killed a good boy for two dollars and a pocket watch."

"The Nobles were pretty grateful to Jarrod."

"I'm not surprised. He took a lot of grief himself for prosecuting that guy."

"Why?"

"Pittsfield had friends. They jumped Jarrod in the livery one night and beat him up good, trying to make him throw the case."

Heath was stunned. "The Nobles didn't tell me that."

"I don't know if they ever knew it happened. I patched your brother up. He had some broken ribs and a bruise or two on his face, but they mostly hit him where it wouldn't show." Dr. Merar smiled. "Your brother just got up from this table right here, went over to the sheriff, and those buddies of Pittsfield's were in jail in half an hour. The jury put them in San Quentin. I don't know what happened to them after that. They might even still be there. You don't get a mere thirty days for beating up a prosecutor, and they ought to consider themselves lucky that Jarrod got the law to lock them up before Nick even found out what happened. You know what Nick would have done."

"Beaten them up worse than they beat on Jarrod, probably," Heath said.

"Uh-huh," Dr. Merar said. "And Victoria would probably have done worse. Skinned them alive. That's mighty solid stock you come from, Heath."

"We heal up good, too, it seems."

Dr. Merar laughed. "You do. I guess the good Lord knew you would have to. What's this make, the third or fourth time I've tended to you and you've only been here a year or so?"

"Something like that," Heath admitted.

"Yeah, you are a Barkley," Dr. Merar said. "Lie still there for a minute. Let me put a new bandage on that."

Heath smiled as he lay there and looked up at the ceiling. Later in his life, he would remember that this moment here was the moment he stopped ever thinking of himself as just Heath again. After everything that had happened on the way back from Strawberry, after everything the Nobles and the doctor had said, Heath knew exactly who he was.

And his knew his birth mother Leah knew the same thing and would be proud that he had Tom Barkley's name and Tom Barkley's family as his own. He knew his birth mother would approve of his adopted mother and Heath even felt thrilled to be able to say to himself, _I am about to be Victoria Barkley's adopted son_. There was not a doubt in his mind anymore that he belonged with that family, and that he was about to be the luckiest man alive – to have two mothers in his heart, not just one.

When the doctor finished, Heath sat up, asking, "What do I owe you?"

"It's about time you got used to me billing the Barkley family for you, Heath," Dr. Merar said. "Put your money away."

Heath laughed a little. "All right, Doctor. I'll never reach for my money again, unless it's to buy you a drink."

Heath limped his way over to his brother's office. He could see Jarrod in there now, through the big window behind his desk. He felt a new brotherhood with that man up there now, in part because he himself felt more like a Barkley, in part because he had come to know the Nobles and how Jarrod had helped them, in part because the doctor had affirmed that Heath was made of the same tough stuff that brother Jarrod was made of.

Heath made his way up the stairs with the help of the railing, and when he went inside Jarrod's secretary waved him right into the private office. "Well!" Jarrod said, smiling ear to ear. "I didn't think you'd be back this quick!" Then he saw Heath limping and lost the smile. "What happened to you?"

"Somebody tried to rob me," Heath said. "The bullet missed anything important. The Nobles took care of me, and the doctor says I'll be fine."

"The Nobles? I haven't seen them in quite a while. How are they?"

"They're fine. They asked me to remember them to you."

"Very fine people. I'm glad they're doing well. And let me guess about the doctor. He talked about the good solid Barkley stock."

"That and the Barkley way of getting busted up pretty often. I keep forgetting the Barkleys have a running tab with the man."

Jarrod chuckled. "We do tend to keep him in business. Now, how are you feeling otherwise? Have you put some of your doubts to rest?"

Heath nodded. "I put them all to rest. I'm ready to sign that paper."

Jarrod pointed to the papers on his desk, exactly where Heath had left them the day before. He handed Heath a pen.

Heath smiled his lop-sided smile. "You knew I'd be back, didn't you?" And suddenly he remembered saying the exact same thing to Victoria when she read him the riot act after Charlie Sawyer died.

"Just don't forget to add on the 'Barkley' when you sign it," Jarrod said.

Heath signed it. _Heath Barkley_.

Jarrod picked it up and looked at it, smiling. "Now, that looks like it ought to look." He reached for Heath's hand. "Mother will be one happy woman to have a new adopted son."

Heath shook Jarrod's hand. "I'm one happy man to be one."

The End


End file.
